Catch A Tiger By The Tail
by MakoHeadrush
Summary: Backstory behind Reno's recruitment into the Turks. Switches back and forth a bit between Tseng's POV and Reno's POV, hopefully it doesn't get too confusing. Gift-fic for redheadturkey!


**Summary: My headcanon-ish story behind Reno's recruitment into the Turks. Switches back and forth a bit between Tseng's POV and Reno's POV, hopefully it doesn't get too confusing.**

**Gift-fic for redheadturkey!  
Contains some OC's. This is based a bit on an AU in my story "Mean Street" which details Reno's early childhood. It's not necessary to read that first before reading this, however.**

**Note: _Hehena_ is a Hawaiian word meaning crazy/insane.  
_Kapu_ is also a Hawaiian word, meaning sacred, taboo, or forbidden. I've utilized the two words as names of two rival Midgar street gangs, but this has no connection to any persons living or deceased, in reality (to my knowledge).**

**Square Enix owns all, I own nothing but my OC's. No profit is being made from this work.**

* * *

Years later, after Reno attained the rank of Second, Tseng would claim that from the moment he spotted Reno, he instinctively knew the boy had what it took to become a Turk. Hindsight was 20/20, of course, but Tseng maintained that when he came upon Reno all those years ago, that the runaway teen proved he was truly a diamond in the rough, despite a childhood full of hardship and loss. In those days, Reno was a scrappy, rail-thin teen; sleeping in makeshift shanties, eating garbage out of dumpsters just to survive, not knowing each night as he stole a few moments to sleep, whether someone would try to kill him in his sleep just to steal the shoes off of his feet.

Reno had been living on the streets since the age of ten, after his only family - his mother, father, and sister - were killed in a workplace explosion, at the textile factory where they all worked. Only Reno had survived, to disappear in the cracks beneath the Plate, vanishing into the slums as he carved out a slice of hard-edged life for himself, hanging onto it with a desperation and determination that belied his unfortunate circumstance and status as an orphan. Alone, with nobody else to look after him save for an older friend of his sister's named Twyla - better known as Twy. Thankfully, Twy had a great deal of street smarts, and took it upon herself to look after them both. It was Twy who taught Reno how to survive on the streets; how to fight and defend himself using the best weapon he had in his arsenal - his _mind_.

"_Weapons can be made outta anything_," Twy had advised him. "_Look around. All this junk that people throw out, ends up here in the slums. Use it. You can hurt someone bad with a wooden bed slat if you sharpen it enough_. _Hell, you could even kill 'em if you had to_. "

"_What's it like_?" Reno had asked Twy, morbidly curious. "_To kill someone, I mean_." He knew that Twy was a fierce fighter, and he also knew that she'd killed before; self-defense, of course. The rule of the street, survival of the fittest meant having to do those things you'd never dream yourself capable of. Even before their exile to the streets, Twy's home life had been rough; her mother had died young, leaving her behind with an abusive stepfather. Twy had to learn how to fend for herself, much like Reno was now learning to do.

"_I hate to sound so gods-damned cold_," Twy told Reno. "_But after a while, you get numb to it. You gotta survive, Reno. Every day, we're just holding on, yanno? And anyone who tries to take me down...well, I'm gonna take **them** down too, or die trying. I can't stop to think, or be sentimental, or I'll end up dead_."

They lived like this for years, Twy growing into the role of the knowledgeable older sister, much like Reno's real sister Renata, whom he had been mourning the loss of since he was ten years old. He wondered sometimes, if Renata was watching him from the Lifestream. There were times, late at night, when Reno was unable to sleep, when he could swear he actually heard Renata's voice. **_Hold on for one more day, Ren. Just hold on for one more day, we'll be out of here soon. Something better's around the corner._ _Someday...we'll live above the Plate. Out in the country, maybe papa will buy that farm he's always dreamed about._**

"We never made it out, sis," Reno whispered into the blackness. "...only me. And I'm still stuck here under the plate."

**_Someday you'll make it, Reno. Someday, the world above - the grass, the mountains and the sky - you'll see it all._**

"I don't know, sis. I'm tryin'...I'm tryin'," Reno would mutter to himself as he drifted off to sleep. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps, when the morning came, things would be different.

But they never were.

* * *

When sleep finally came, he would dream of the world above the Plate. He would picture in his mind's eye what the sky might look like, far away from the stench and pollution that hovered over Midgar. Reno had seen the night sky once when he, Renata, and some of their friends from the neighborhood snuck out after curfew to take a peek above Plate. There was no such curfew below the plate - after all, Shinra hardly cared about what happened in the slums. Above plate, however, anyone under the age of eighteen - unless they were military - was forbidden from being out and about after six o'clock.

Reno, Renata and their friends had been caught, of course, and ran away from the robo-guards, retreating back into the slums where they'd always lived. But the risk had been well worth it, in Reno's estimation. For off in the distance, where the sky was clearer, Reno could see _stars_. He could see the moons that orbited the Planet, and other far-off planets that revolved around the sun. What would it be like to be out there in the night sky, swooping and soaring as a great bird of prey might do?

Reno often dreamed he was flying, his arms spread wide, wind in his hair, soaring over the tree-studded mountain ranges, swooping through clouds, banking and turning as he flew. He dreamed of oceans and sandy beaches on the western continent, of mountain lakes and waterfalls, of deserts and the flat plains, as he'd seen pictured in Renata's tattered picture books. Reno would swoop down, nearly touching down, then at the last minute pull up, up, soaring skyward, aiming for the zenith of the sky.

He would wake up from these dreams with a sudden jolt, often with a smile on his face, mind racing at the endless possibilities that were out there for him, if only.

_If only_.

* * *

Tseng –a rookie Turk back then - happened upon the skirmish during a walkthrough of Sector 8, below plate. His suit was new and freshly pressed, not yet worn in the field. There was no trace of blood or cordite on the garment. _Yet_.

However, Tseng was here on business. As it so happened, the rookie Turk was only passing through that part of the slums to meet with his informant. A thick wad of gil to sweeten the pot for the needed information was well-nestled within Tseng's billfold, tucked inside his suit jacket. He patted his breast pocket, and then passed his hand discreetly over his waistband, brushing his fingers against the handle of his revolver, snug in his hip holster.

Tseng had seen plenty of fights like this breaking out before, particularly in the rougher slums where tempers were on edge, and nobody had much of anything to lose. Midgar's Sector Eight, topside, was a world away from life below. Below the Plate in Sector Eight was where most of Midgar's teenage runaways congregated. Many wouldn't live to see eighteen; and even if they did, they'd likely end up working for Don Corneo in one capacity or another.

Runaway girls would end up at the Honeybee; or if the Don took a particular shine to one of them, they'd end up sharing his bed for a month or several until he got tired of them and found a newer, younger flavor of the month. Runaway boys could end up as whores just as well, or as drug runners or lackeys for the Don, who ruled the Slums. The only way out of that life was to get out of Midgar, and none of them had the means to do so.

The group of teens barely gave Tseng a glance, so fixated were they on their fight. It was six-against-one, the teen in the middle of the fray standing out, owing to the shock of bright red, ratty hair atop his head. But the hair color was not the only thing that grabbed Tseng's attention. The way that kid held himself, eyes full of fire and absent any fear, as he defended himself with nothing but what appeared to be a home-made cattle-prod running off of a lantern battery as his weapon.

The rod was slapped together from scrap parts stolen from the junk collector outside of Wall Market. Slapped together and completely unpolished looking, held together with duct tape and a prayer - but it was damned effective , albeit a bit bulky for the wiry teen who was handling it. Electricity crackled from the tip, and the teen swung it around wildly, cutting an electric arc in the air. One of his attackers who was standing a bit too close for comfort realized too late that his shirt had singed upon contact, a sizable hole now burned into the garment.

"What the hell you doin', _Rat_?" The youth with the hole in his shirt snarled at the redheaded boy, his voice full of condemnation and weary rage. Dagger in hand, the boy lunged at the one he'd addressed as Rat, but the redhead merely sneered, flipped a switch on his makeshift prod, and stuck it right in the center of the teen's chest. A golden aura surrounded the redhead, his face drawn in a sneer as he increased the voltage. He whipped it around, gesticulating wildly, striking out at anyone who drew near. The gaggle of teens quickly fell back, save for their leader, who was still taunting the boy with the cattle prod.

"_Your mother was a whore, and your sister was too_!" he shouted, sneering stupidly. "_You don't even know your real father, do you, Rat_?"

"Farley- back off man, you're pushing him way too far – " A small voice rang out clearly amid the insults and jeers.

"Shut up, Tobias," Farley snarled in return, glancing back. "This ain't none of your concern," he added. As his attention was turned, the redheaded teen's face began to _glow_, taking on fire that burned from within. His lips drew back in a snarl, the blue eyes turning opalescent as his entire body grew rigid.

Tseng could feel the tension within the small, wiry frame just by watching him. He noticed, for the first time, two identical red-orange lines tattooed onto either side of the boy's face, accentuating his cheekbones. The mark of the _Hehena_ street gang; Tseng knew of them, mostly by reputation and not by sight. They kept to the shadows, retreating after a hit was made, or a deal struck between rival gangs. Only when a turf war broke out might they be seen, and only then if they were lying dead in the street, offed by a rival gang member.

_He's limit breaking,_ Tseng thought, observing the changing appearance of the redhead's face. _The kid is seriously limit breaking - like nothing I've ever seen before. _Limit breaks were often wild and uncontrollable, especially in younger individuals; once they reached their late teens, the limit breaks could be better controlled, even predicted.

There was nothing Tseng could do to intervene, even if he'd wished to. It wasn't really in the nature of the job to offer help; it would perhaps seem cold to an outsider, but Turks were not first responders. They were the ones who were called in to dispatch an enemy, to interrogate suspects, or to find someone who didn't want to be found. Turks weren't there to break up alley-fights between a bunch of angry teenagers; Shiva only knew there were enough of those going on at any given time in the slums. Tseng merely watched, fascinated as the redheaded boy called "Rat" - he supposed that was his street name - channeled everything, all of his mana into the makeshift cattle-prod.

_This isn't going to end well_ \- Tseng mused, the thought barely formed in his head as the teen's eyes went wide at the first jolt of electricity coursing through his chest, eyes rolling back in his head as the full voltage ran straight through his aorta.

The rest of the pack froze for a moment, then scattered like ants as their comrade fell to the ground, dead on his feet before he could even hit the dirt. Tseng blinked, and stepped forward slowly as the redheaded teen's rage subsided, the arm that held his weapon lowering slowly.

"I know you were standing there, watchin'," the teen said, turning his head slightly to address Tseng. "Why? What do you care about a bunch of scrubs like us, Mister _Suit_?"

"I don't," Tseng replied flatly, shrugging his shoulders. "Rather, I should say...it was none of my concern to get involved. Your fighting technique intrigues me…I've never quite seen a limit break like that."

"I call it Pacemaker," the teen replied, grinning. "Because it stops the old ticker, y'see?"

"I do see," Tseng said evenly. "Your weapon…it suits you," he added, nodding toward the electrified stick the teen held in his hand. A great, pride-filled grin broke out at the compliment.

He reached into his inside breast pocket and retrieved a business card. It bore no name, no company name, but that was hardly necessary, as the ShinRa logo was emblazoned on the front. Turning it over, Tseng quickly scrawled a phone number on the back and passed it over to the teen, who took it in hand, studying it with a guarded expression.

"The hell is this for?" The teen asked suspiciously. He turned the card over and over again, scrutinizing it, looking for some sort of information besides the logo and hastily scrawled telephone number.

"Think of it as…a get out of jail free card," Tseng replied smoothly. "Should you ever need it, " he added. "Or…if you're ever looking for a new opportunity. That's my direct number. Ask for Tseng."

"New opportunity?" The boy laughed harshly. "Sounds like a bunch of bullshit. Stuff like that doesn't happen for scrubs like me."

Tseng smirked. He understood well the boy's scorn, why he would be suspicious of some strange man in a suit offering a slums kid an _opportunity_. Usually such opportunities were nothing but an offer to run drugs for a dealer, prostitution, or something even more unsavory.

"Let's just say…that you've got some unique talents that may benefit my department," Tseng explained.

"Hey, wait - Tseng? Is that your name?" The teen asked as Tseng turned away to leave. "I didn't even tell you my name – "

Tseng turned paused, stopping to look at him thoughtfully. "True. Though I don't put much stock in street names…._Rat_," he continued, smiling a bit.

"Don't call me that," the red-haired teen replied quickly, frowning. "Name's Reno. My last name is – "

"It doesn't matter," Tseng interrupted him with a wave of his hand. "No need to tell me what it is. Surnames hold no meaning down here, do they…Reno?"

Reno shook his head vehemently, shaggy crimson bangs falling into his face. He blinked. "They don't. Even my first name – nobody calls me that. 'Cept for my big sister. She's not really my big sister, just…she kind of acts like one." _My real sister is gone…into the Lifestream_, Reno thought but would not voice aloud.

Tseng nodded. "I see. I don't use my last name anymore either," he revealed, smiling a secret smile. "Well…Reno, if you'll excuse me, I do have business to take care of around here. Keep the card."

"…Okay," Reno replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Not sure what the hell I'd be calling a Suit for," he muttered to himself. Reno looked up just as Tseng vanished from sight, almost as quickly as he'd appeared on the scene.

* * *

Some time passed, and Tseng didn't hear from Reno – not that he had honestly expected to. Tseng imagined that the boy would end dead within months, like so many runaway teens his age. There was some small part of Tseng that thought perhaps not. Perhaps Reno would defy the odds and make it out of the slums. Someone with that sort of fire in their veins, and that level of terrific resourcefulness _might_ have a fighting chance.

But life in the slums was hard, harder than most people on the Upper Plate even realized, and harder still for a teen with no family or home to a call his own. The only way out was up – and _up_ was impossible for a street kid like Reno.

Many months passed; Tseng had another year as a Turk under his belt, and was no longer a rookie. Veld had Tseng exclusively training the newest batch of Turks, while still scouting for new recruits. Every once in a while, Tseng would wonder what became of Reno.

He got his answer nearly a year and a half to the date after he'd met the boy when his phone rang. Tseng nearly didn't answer it, recognizing the incoming phone number.

_Pay phone,_ Tseng thought. _Best to let it go to voice mail._

But – at just the last minute, Tseng took the call. The voice on the other end sounded youthful – the alternating high and low tones of a young male whose voice had just changed from a boy's to that of a young man."

"You probably don't remember me, Mister….My name is Reno. Ya know, Reno the _Rat_?" The caller laughed nervously.

Tseng paused but a moment before replying.

"I remember. How are you doing, Reno?"

"Let's just say…I could use that new opportunity you were talking about," Reno replied hoarsely. "If that offer still stands?"

Tseng considered for a moment. He wondered what Veld would say – he hadn't even mentioned his encounter with Reno over a year ago, thinking the kid would be dead before his sixteenth birthday anyway.

"Yes it is," Tseng replied briskly. "Can you meet me topside Sector Eight, right away?"

"Sector Eight?" Reno echoed.

"Yes…Sector Eight. Turks' jurisdiction. Come quickly." Tseng could sense the desperation in Reno's voice, and he guessed that if he was calling a phone number scrawled on the back of a business card _now_, over a year later, then he must be in dire straits indeed.

* * *

Reno paced, hands in his pockets, fingers playing idly with a tuft of lint in his jacket pocket, his left hand on the battered, homemade cattle-prod that he still carried as his primary weapon. A small dagger was tucked safely into his boot.

His clothing was threadbare, but clean; cast-offs he'd gotten by rifling through the donation bins scattered throughout Lower Midgar. He'd gotten quite good at finding out which bins generally had the better selections of clothing, and would sometimes hide in there when the vans came around, dumping bags and boxes of unwanted items intended for distribution to the needy. Reno figured that he fell into that category, and felt no qualms about getting first dibs.

Still, Reno knew very well that he looked destitute and on the brink of starvation, for he was both of those things. Reno wasn't sure what sort of 'opportunity' a man in a dark suit from Shinra might be able to offer him_. Probably a suicide mission where they'd need someone expendable_, he thought cynically.

_Maybe I'll get a hot meal before I check out,_ Reno mused, eyes narrowing as he saw Tseng approach. _That'd be nice._

"Reno," Tseng greeted him, voice as smooth and dangerous as a razor slicing through silk. "I was surprised to hear from you, after all this time – "

"Can we talk over coffee?" Reno suggested, shifting his weight from his right foot to his left and back again, all the while never averting eye contact with Tseng. He winced inwardly as his stomach gave an audible growl, but gave no outward sign that to acknowledge it.

"Are you hungry?" Tseng asked, picking up on the hint.

"Fuckin' starving," Reno admitted without shame. "Haven't found any good scraps in three days."

Tseng nodded, surprised that the kid hadn't died from malnutrition; Reno's affiliation with the Hehena gang wasn't the only bad card in the deck that life had stacked against him. "I know a place. Come."

They came to a diner, a twenty-four hour joint favored by the Turks and other Shinra employees who worked unpredictable hours. The marquee was a bright and disarming neon kaleidoscope of pink and turquoise.

Reno sat quietly for a few moments, poring over the menu.

"Get whatever you like," Tseng offered. "It's on me." When Reno looked up at him, just a bit hesitantly, Tseng grinned. "Well….rather, it's on ShinRa, Inc."

Reno chuckled. They both placed their orders with the waitress, expressions turning serious once again when the server left, taking the menus with her.

"So…guess we gotta talk business," Reno began.

"Indeed," Tseng replied. "First…tell me, what have you been up to since our chance meeting?"

"I…well…it's a long story," Reno muttered, taking a moment to sip on his water. "Lot of shit went down. Mostly bad…" He began narrating a rambling and somewhat exhausting tale to Tseng, of a gang war between the Hehenas and a rival gang; run-ins with a local vigilante group; and of meeting a girl he'd taken a fancy to who had mysteriously vanished after a meeting with Don Corneo.

"I don't like Corneo," Reno declared over his double cheeseburger.

"Neither do I," Tseng replied. "So…you've had quite a year since we last spoke, then."

"Yeah, I have," Reno said softly. "I haven't told you the worst yet, though." Tseng said nothing, but politely waited for Reno to continue, sipping on the coffee he'd been nursing since they'd gotten there.

"My – well, my friend, that I told you about – not my girlfriend, but the one who was kind of looking out for me," Reno went on in his rambling, slangy way that Tseng found irritating and fascinating all at once.

"They killed her," Reno said flatly. "The other gang that went up against mine – the Kapus – they gunned her down. Because they were trying to get to _me_. She took a fucking bullet for _me_." Reno finished eating his sandwich and pushed the plate away, leaning back in his seat slightly.

"I'm sorry you lost your friend," Tseng said simply. "The Kapu….we've had issues with them before. Not so much with the Hehenas, but Kapu…."

"Well, you won't anymore!" Reno said brightly. "I killed every last one of those fuckers. They're all gone. No more Kapu."

"No more Kapu…" Tseng echoed, leaning forward. "Reno…I think it's time we talk business, here. What are your plans for the future?"

Reno doubled over laughing, head bowed, his body shaking. "Plans? My plans, Tseng, are to _eat_. To find a fucking place to sleep every night. To _survive_." Reno wiped the tears from his eyes, still laughing. "Oh, Gaia…plans," he muttered, smiling and shaking his head.

"You've done a remarkable job of surviving, Reno," Tseng commented. "And now…you've cut down the Kapu. Really, you've already done Shinra a favor, before you're even in our employ." The Turk leaned forward on his elbows, eyes pinning Reno's.

"I'd like to offer you a probationary position….in the Department of Administrative Research," Tseng revealed in a low voice.

"The Department of _what_?" Reno shook his head, clueless. "Never heard of it."

"….better known as the Turks," Tseng finished, and realization dawned on Reno's face.

"Oh," Reno murmured quietly. "…._oh_." He laughed. "I thought you were an ad-man or some shit like that."

Tseng smirked. "Not exactly, Reno. So…are you interested?"

Reno laughed. "Are you kidding, Tseng? Yeah, I'm interested. _Real_ fucking interested. When can I start?"

Tseng pulled a pen out of his inside pocket and scrawled an address on a napkin. "Come here in an hour. I'll be waiting by the door. You'll be training with myself, and my colleague. How's your eyesight, by the way, Reno?"

"Sharp as shit," Reno confirmed, nodding. "Why?"

"Well, if you meet our expectations during the initial training period," Tseng explained, "you'll be trained to fly a helicopter. Does that interest you?"

Reno felt the blood drain from his face and nodded robotically, a wide grin breaking out across his face.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice breaking. "Yeah. You give me wings, Tseng? If you give me wings….I'm gonna fucking soar."


End file.
